


Among the Lilies

by evanelric



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anthropomorphic, Bottom Hanzo Shimada, Captivity, Disabled Character, Feral Behavior, Hanzo's legs are totally prosthetics, Knotting, M/M, Magical Healing Cock, Marking, Non-Consensual, Possessive Behavior, Scenting, Top Jesse McCree, Violence, Violent Sex, surprise motherfucker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-02 00:09:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8643571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evanelric/pseuds/evanelric
Summary: Suddenly it all clicks into place. His captors, whoever they are, mean to watch this creature tear him apart.
Hanzo is captured. AU.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Be responsible for yourself and read the tags.

When Hanzo regains consciousness he keeps his breathing slow, assessing his condition and surroundings before giving away the fact that he’s woken up, in case anyone is watching him. His head is still swimming from whatever they’d dosed him with to get him here, but he’s surprisingly unhurt, considering it had taken over a dozen men ambushing him to take him down in the first place. His wounds are minor- some bruises, a nasty twinge along his ribs on his right side, but the greatest concern is the fabric hanging loose around the sensitive ends of his thighs. They’d taken his prosthetics, but left his clothes. Looking for his bow or quiver is almost certainly pointless.

With his mobility severely limited Hanzo becomes more concerned about where he’s been put. The air smells of dirt and animal, and he can feel the grit of the floor under his skin. There’s a solid, rhythmic sound almost like footsteps, and the cadence sounds like the gait is bipedal, but not quite human either, and no footwear or bare skin would have quite that thud-tap quality on the hard-packed dirt floor of the room he’s in. The panting breaths and occasional deep inhales make him believe it’s the animal he can smell. The sound never grows any closer or more distant, and the rhythm stutters after the same number of steps back and forth, so it must be pacing in an enclosure of some sort. Lucky for him.

He can’t hear anything or anyone else in the room, so he opens his eyes and is met with the wall of some sort of cave, lit up with the blue glow of a hard light door blocking off a large opening. Beyond is a tunnel, and in the corners where the walls curve into ceiling just beyond the door are small cameras with tiny slowly flashing red lights. They want to be noticed. He’s being recorded, or at least monitored. Things are looking more dire.

He lifts his torso off the ground and turns his head to see what they’ve sealed him in with, and the creature abruptly ceases it’s pacing, pressing close to the bars of hard light keeping them separated. It looks vaguely like a man, if you took a man and blended it horrifically with some sort of wild animal and made it 7 or 8 feet tall. It walks with a hunched posture, balancing on it’s toes, knees and ankles forming complementary joints, like those of a dog. This makes it difficult for Hanzo to judge it’s full height, but it’s more than large enough to consider him a healthy meal. The hands are roughly human, but the joints are knobby, and the palms and fingertips look like they have pads on them, like paws. Each digit is tipped with long, black claws, which explains the tapping sound the footsteps have. The creature is liberally covered in fur, dark and matted, and the eyes are a wicked gold that seem to glow bright enough to shine through the blue of the hard light. Vicious teeth jut from its jaws, and drool drips in thick lines from its muzzle, catching in the fur of its chest.

Suddenly it all clicks into place. His captors, whoever they are, mean to watch this creature tear him apart. To add insult to injury he can’t even run, even if there was any place in the cave the creature couldn’t reach in a few short bounds without the hard light bars holding it captive. The walls are smooth dirt, curving up into a high ceiling, with no ledges or nooks anywhere aside from the enclosure where the creature itself paces.

Regardless, Hanzo is not going to lay there and placidly accept his fate. He pulls himself forward on his arms, using what’s left of his legs to help propel him toward the tunnel, when the quality of light in the room changes and the sound of pacing stops. Hanzo stills, sure the beast is about to pounce on him and make him into so much meat, but nothing happens except the sound of a long breathy inhale and exhale. He chances a look behind him just as the beast begins walking again, not toward him, but circling. _Stalking_ him, heavy breaths filling the air.

Hanzo doesn’t know what sort of abomination this is, doesn’t know if staying still or moving is less likely to get him immediately killed, so he takes a chance and edges his limbs forward, moving himself forward centimeters at a time. The slow stalking continues, so Hanzo keeps moving forward, trying to at least get his back to the wall. As soon as he turns his head the creature is on him, teeth pressing around the back of his neck and hot breath on his skin, and a huge paw covering his outstretched hand, claws digging into the dirt.

Hanzo freezes and the teeth withdraw, but the breath stays, and the creature lets out a sound that Hanzo refuses to believe is the word _mine_.

He can feel the heat of the creature hovering over him, and this close it smells even stronger, like unwashed fur and stale urine and old meat. The pads of the paw over his hand are rough, and the fur matted with dirt and who knows what else. Hanzo lets his weight shift slowly to the ground. With no weapons and limited mobility the best he can hope for now is a quick death, and the beast currently seems more interested in investigating him than eating him.

The paw skims down his left arm and over his exposed flank, and catches in the folds of the sleeve of his kyudo-gi where it’s tucked in the obi. The beast settles back on its haunches to run the other paw down Hanzo’s right shoulder as well, claws catching the fabric and pulling it down to reveal skin. It lets out a soft whine and leans down to press its muzzle to his flesh, rubbing coarse fur and hot saliva across his shoulder blades, before it starts to single-mindedly pull the cloth from his body, snuffling along each bit of newly revealed skin.

The beast tugs at his clothes, leaving thin trails of blood even with the minimal resistance of Hanzo’s body weight awkwardly holding them to the ground, while he tries to surreptitiously shift his weight off the fabric without alarming the beast. He imagines that the catch of the fabric tucked under and hooked onto the inside of his prosthetic knees would be treated as something to be yanked and tugged at, and perhaps even the prosthetics themselves ripped from his thighs as yet another annoyance. He laughs hysterically in his own head for a moment. Perhaps the beast has learned that fabric catches in its teeth when it devours people.

The huffing breath continues to move across Hanzo’s back, until he feels a particularly large drip of blood run down along his hip from where the creature clawed away the layers of his obi, and then a hot, moist tongue drags back up its trail, stinging as it passes over the wound. The breath moves from there across his now-bare ass, and a cold wet nose presses in behind his balls, and the feeling of that followed by more breaths, now coming faster, makes Hanzo shiver involuntarily. The beast lets out a warning growl and lays a paw on Hanzo's hip, still sticky with drying saliva, and he catches his breath and wills himself to stillness as he suddenly realises that maybe food isn't what the beast thinks of him as.

Hanzo gasps as the tongue licks a trail from his balls up over his hole, and then another paw is placed on his other hip and they lift him as the breath retreats. He's pulled up with his ass sticking out in the air, the beast's hold supporting him until he gets the stubs of his thighs stabilized under him, torn fabric bunched under his chest where he was dragged back along the ground. The uncomfortable pressure of the folds of cloth make him realise his breathing is accelerated, and he becomes aware of the cold fear sweat beading on his brow and the roiling of his stomach.

Hanzo clenches his fist against the ground and waits until he feels the beast press itself along his thighs and back, curling over him again to speak, no, _growl_ something at him, before he flings his fistful of dirt, hoping to catch the creature in the eyes. It works enough for it to let go of Hanzo's hips and reel back, leaving Hanzo shuddering from the cold. He manages a few awkward toddling steps forward on hands and nubs, before he's flipped and thrown to the floor, the beast right in his face, spraying spit as it snarls at him and digs its claws into his thighs.

There's no denying this time that the snarls are actually words. “Mine! Stay!”

Hanzo is out of ideas.

When the beast flips him over he resigns himself, and lets his weight settle on the scarred seams of skin at the ends of his thighs, halfheartedly knocking away a few shredded strips of cloth caught under one of them. Under normal circumstances he'd be concerned about the pain, but now it doesn't matter anymore. Blood is trailing down his ribs from where the beast's claws have punctured his hips, running down his chest and up his neck to drip from his chin down to the floor.

The coppery scent of blood and dirt and animal musk fill his nose as the beast presses against him again, dripping hot wetness over his ass that he's trying not to think about until it pulls back and presses forward against his hole. Hanzo gasps at the pain and flinches forward instinctively, but the claws tighten and the blood turns from occasional drops to steady drips, and hot matted fur presses tight to his back as teeth close over the nape of his neck again. This time, when the creature thrusts it's hips forward, Hanzo braces and takes it.

He tries to concentrate on anything else, but all he can feel is the burning stretch of the creature filling him up. The beast is crooning at him, snuffling at his neck, licking long lines from his shoulders all the way up behind his ears, but all hanzo can feel is the pain as his body gives way to accommodate each thrust.

The pain becomes his entire world. Vision greying out and hearing receding into high pitched tinnitus, the hot stinging slide of the creature pistoning in and out of him and the scratch of matted fur against his thighs and back all he knows for an eternity. Suddenly, a lifetime later, the pain somehow becomes worse, as the beast pulls Hanzo's hips back into the hardest thrust yet and holds him in place as something inside Hanzo swells impossibly large and he feels a sudden hot rush, before the beast all but collapses onto him, pressing Hanzo flat into the small muddy puddles and dirt beneath him.

The shock of hitting the ground brings the rest of his senses into disturbing clarity. He can hear the gasping of the beast over him, the scratchy sound of its fur as it twitches against his body and the ground below them, his own shaky breathing, the hum of the hard light projectors walling off the entrance to the enclosure. The air is thick with the scent of blood and dirt and the beast, and Hanzo's mouth is full of the salty tang of his own tears, throat raw from screams he didn't even know he was making, a hundred tiny cuts clamoring for attention alongside the deeper aches and bruises.

The beast grips Hanzo tight, digging further into the wounds there, and rolls them to their sides when the pressure on Hanzo's lungs becomes audible in his labored breathing, wrapping its arms around his torso and nuzzling in along his neck up behind his ear, following it up with another lick before sinking its teeth into the curve where his shoulder meets his neck. Hanzo screams and arches, but can’t move far given all the points of contact between him and the creature. It withdraws its teeth and licks over the wound, but Hanzo can still feel the trickle of hot blood and saliva tracing down his collarbone.

“Good,” it says “Mine. Stay.”

As if Hanzo has a choice.

###

The next time he wakes, Hanzo’s first realization is that somehow he fell asleep, or perhaps passed out.

He’s sprawled out on his stomach, and the beast is holding his thighs again, spreading them apart so it can lick across his hole. The rest of his body is coated with the sticky stiffness of dried spit, and he has no idea how he managed to remain unconscious long enough for the creature to have done all that, let alone be working its tongue carefully over his rim in long, laving strokes.

He feels boneless and lethargic, and not nearly as sore as he expected to considering what happened to him over the last few… hours? Days? Time is muddled, and everywhere the creature touches him is permeated with a pleasant warmth. Even the tongue feels good, as does the light nip he gets on the ass before the creature lets his legs go.

He feels hazy, and tries to lift himself up on his hands only to have his arms give out beneath him so he thuds back to the ground. The creature runs a paw gently over his hair before gathering him close, crooning in his ear as it strokes his back.

His neck still aches. His back should hurt more with all the scratches and cuts it left there, but even the gouges on his hips barely sting. Hanzo tries to bend and look, but the creature just holds Hanzo’s head to its chest and croons at him again. It sounds like it says _darling_.

###

Hanzo stays like that, slipping in and out of consciousness, the creature never out of touching distance, and at some point he realises he’s freezing, or maybe he has a fever, and his legs are burning and aching with phantom pain. The creature curls up around him, and Hanzo is still cold, but some tiny part of his brain stops shivering and thinks _safety_.

He thinks the beast talks to him more, but is too out of it to remember anything beyond the few words he’d heard before.

“Mine.”

“Darling.”

It doesn’t tell him to stay again, because he doesn’t think to try to get away.

###

The last time Hanzo wakes he instantly snaps to attention, bounding up into a crouch behind the creature, who is poised to spring, snarling at half a dozen men in the no-longer-blocked entrance to the tunnel. Several of them have guns, and a few have what look like electric cattle prods.

The men with cattle prods move forward first, with enough confidence to suggest that this is usually easy, and the men with guns are barely paying attention.

“Back in your box, now, McCree,” one of them says, gesturing back with the prod.

McCree, apparently, tears the throats out of that man and the one to his left, a third falls on his ass, and one man drops his gun. It seems McCree is usually much more compliant.

One guy manages to flick off the safety of his gun and fire a round into the wall behind McCree just in time to have his insides become his outsides. The one who fell scrambles to get away and gets a viciously broken neck for his trouble. The last one throws his gun down, safety still on, and puts his hands up in the air only to have his throat clawed out as well. McCree is barely winded from the exertion, but his claws drip red.

He turns back to Hanzo and walks over, pulling him to his feet. His… feet?

Hanzo looks down, bewildered, to see two legs, covered in swirling yellow markings from his thighs down, ending in white clawed toes. McCree is still standing there, holding carefully onto Hanzo’s hands. When Hanzo pulls one away to look at it he realizes they are also tipped with sharp white claws, and the same yellow design from his legs creeps up his left arm in place of the coiling dragon tattoo. McCree runs his paw across the side of Hanzo’s face, back into his hair, threading his claws carefully through the tangled strands. As they fall back to his shoulder he sees that the strands are now stark white, stained light red in places from where McCree’s claws carded through, rather than the inky blue-black he’s accustomed to.

“Darling. Mine,” McCree breathes at him. Hanzo can’t find it in himself to disagree.

**Author's Note:**

> Ahahaha, I would like to ~~blame~~ I mean thank the MHU e-sin discord channel and especially Larten for inspiring this piece of filth, and Blizzard for omitting McCree's "It's high moon" line from the Halloween Brawl only to leave it to be datamined by some intrepid soul. Welcome to McHell.
> 
> Title is from the Bible (Song of Solomon 6:2-3 ESV):
> 
> _2 My beloved has gone down to his garden_   
>  _to the beds of spices,_   
>  _to graze in the gardens_   
>  _and to gather lilies._   
>  _3 I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine;_   
>  _he grazes among the lilies._
> 
>  
> 
> I seriously contemplated just calling this "Surprise, Motherfucker" but thought better of it.


End file.
